OH WHY COULDN'T YOU GET A BONER

SOMETIMES YOU'RE THE BIRD, SOMETIMES YOU'RE THE WINDSCREEN.

Friday, September 10, 2004

(5 of 8) No, I like my pubic hair but thanks for asking.

[In which you have a bed hair day]

You did end up going home. You’d talked about how you might, considering you've been working till really late and your sleeping patterns have changed, and it soon became obvious that cuddling and assuming sleeping positions wasn’t taking you anywhere. After much creaking and stretching trying to leave the bed without waking him up - which he’d said you wouldn’t so not to worry - you hear a mumbled “youcan’tsleep” “no, I can’t, I’m going home” ”waitI’lldriveyou” “no, it’s fine, go back to sleep”. You live 5 min from his house on foot. But sweet. The Defunct would have said (in fact, did) “sorry, got to wake up early tomorrow, would love to take you but if I move now I’ll never fall asleep”. Pig. You left after he’d pulled you down so he could kiss you.But an alarming episode had occurred earlier on in the kitchen. For some obscure reason the conversation drifted toward pubic hair. You can’t explain how it happened, you’re just fucking sure you didn’t start it. It turns out he shaves his pubic hair. He does what??? “Well you see, the first time I was with a woman who shaved I felt so embarrassed, I decided I was going to start doing it too.” “… Er… But why? Why should you be embarrassed?” And this was the unforgettable answer: “It’s not nice to get hair caught between your teeth.” He then smiles engagingly. “I’d be happy to shave you.” “Ha. I’m sure you would. It’s not going to happen. Ever.” “No, you don’t understand, it looks much nicer! Here, let me show you.” And the one-man-freak-show-2 starts unzipping his pants! “Wowwowow, WHAT ARE YOU DOING???” “Just showing you the top, don’t freak out.”

This is the situation as far as you could grasp it: apparently, pubic hair was misguidedly created. It gets in the way. Literally. In the alien universe he and his kind inhabit people are impaired because of the sheer weight of all the pubic hair trapped between their teeth, up their nose, obstructing their oropharynx and covering their tonsils. Rampant genital hypertrichosis. This bare lady, the honourable pioneer, obviously pushed a button that was dying to be activated because normal people don’t just start shaving out of shame. FYI, he doesn’t actually shave. He trims. Or rather, he keeps it short enough for it not to be in the way, as it were, and long enough for it not to itch. And you should know, you got to see it when he unzipped the top. He even bought one of those machines you see in vet clinics just for that. A fucking connoisseur.In your universe, people go down on each other and occasionally you have to spit out the odd hair. You’re not sure how familiar he is with male and female anatomy. You are convinced, though, that it has come to his attention that men DO NOT HAVE hair on their penises and even the balls are quite bald when compared to the above pubic hair - which, incidentally, is called that because it grows in the pubic region. Not the penile region. Not the scrotal region. Females, as far as you know, do not have hair-covered clits or minor labia but you understand how it might be trickier, it’s all sort of grouped together. Still. You live in a country where many women are dark and hairy. You’ve seen your share of naked women and even though many are somewhat bushy - and no you’re not - it’s nothing to run screaming from. Unlike this guy. And still you didn’t. (Why? Still cutting native customs some slack?) You can only assume he’s done his share over the years with eyes shut tight and a prayer in his heart for her quick orgasm (which you can also only assume didn’t happen because the whole going at it doesn’t bode well).Not that you can picture him actually being comfortable with oral sex. He’s so bloody phobic, how could he possibly be comfortable with bodily fluids. “What is this, you’re WET? How dare you. Go wash yourself this minute.” You might just point out Jewish Orthodoxy as his predestined existence, that way he’d be able to avoid touching the woman in any way whatsoever during her period - you can’t really picture him having a go at her while she’s fucking bleeding like a pig *gagging sounds*, can you.

The sad irony is you actually think it could be an incredibly sexy thing if you’re with a guy you fancy and he says “I’ve got some whipped cream spray, how about we rearrange the landscape”. It could be hot but all potential hotness fucking evaporates when you get this notion that your bush may just not be kosher and how can you roam the earth like that, have you no shame.

Wednesday, September 08, 2004

(4 of 8) Could you lick your nipples please?

[In which you realise you haven't seen it all but wish you had]

Days of hanging out in movie theatres and outside cafes followed. So much so that you are getting tired of it. You both have your own flats! He has yet to invite you to come round - but then he does. You go.

You’re watching a movie (interrupted by snogging sessions from the couch to the floor where, I might add, bacteria seem to be of the good kind because there was no sound from him) (oh, other than moaning which was quite nice considering the Defunct) and all of a sudden he says “Want to stay over?” This is a bit of ironic (Alanis, if you’re reading this, unlike the fly bit, this actually IS ironic.) because you have spent the past few months begging for a shag and a kiss (more the latter actually) and here the opportunity presents itself and YOU PANICK! Your mind stops working.

You happen to very much want to sleep with a man, you’re not sure about the sex though. You play for time. You negotiate. “Do I get pyjamas?” “Well I sleep in the buff,” (oh no!) ” but I can get you some” “Socks?” (sorry but you're always cold) “No no no, no socks! Wrap your feet around mine, I’ll keep you warm.” Sucker is convinced, who can resist that? So off you go. This happened while you were having trouble sleeping, which would also give you a fabulous reason for disappearing if things took a turn to the worse. You get ready for bed like an old married couple. You are scared shitless. Humping, who can remember???

You are praying he will not pull the old “Let -me-grab-your-hand-and-force-it-onto-my-gland”, always a charmer. This is not Sex and The City or, better put, you are not Samantha. You have your own timing. You don’t swoon with joy at the prospect of a new penis. New penises are a hassle. What, you need this? The thing just springs at you. Toing! And how do they like to be touched? Again, you’re no Samantha but there’s your “gently, I’m very sensitive, butterfly wings would scar me for life” type; your “bring it on sister, tie some knots, pro-ceed with no fear!” type; your silent type (defunct-wise) which is the pits, because there you are trying your best not to be remembered as a fumbler yourself and there’s no sound, worse, NO TWITCH, coming from the guy and you feel ridiculous and wonder if he’s fallen asleep or is just very, very bored (silent types also have a dismaying tendency to suddenly yell “Watch out!” and there you have your very own protein-filled moment, “Happiness”-style).

(You won’t get started on blowjobs. You remember when you forced a boyfriend to swallow his own sperm so he could see how it is NOT God’s gift to women. He actually gagged, almost vomited, but he assures you he’s now much more appreciative of everything involved.)

So you go to bed and he’s wearing boxers (thank you God) and you start kissing and buttons get undone and all of a sudden you hear a husky voice begging “Lick your nipples”. You stare at him like he’s gone mad. The man is actually looking at them, what can he be thinking? Insane dialogue follows “Excuse me?” “I’d really love to watch you lick your nipples.” “I’m sure you would but see, here’s the problem: this is not an American porn film! Look at my boobies, they’re a 36! How on earth do you expect me to lick my nipples even if I wanted to?” Kodak moment: he grabs your head from the back and starts bending your neck forward, gently but painfully so, as he stretches your left boob upward, gently but painfully so, but never the two shall meet as far as you're concerned. You do have a long neck but seriously this is ridiculous! What's so fucking sexy about licking your own nipples? It's a turn off! Men are supposed to lick your nipples! They have been most obliging in the past and everyone was left much happier for it.

This is a trend: Defunct didn't care for foreplay (oh but you know exactly why!), this one expects you to take care of it for him. Not good. Plus you broke a vertebra once, wore a neck brace forever and do not take kindly to neck acrobatics. Plus the whole thing is so fucking unappetising you know that even if it were anatomically comfortable there would still be no self-nipple-licking in your future. “If only you would really stick out your tongue.” He really, really said it. “NO!” ”But it would turn me on…” Lame ass. “I’m sure it would, try and lick your own for kicks.” (Surprisingly, your acerbic sense of humour is not universally acclaimed.) “Well, Marilyn Manson had a few ribs removed so he could suck his own cock.” "There you go then, problem solved.”

[Hint: if you’re trying to seduce someone bringing up MM while in bed is not the best way to accomplish it.] [Then again, maybe you're trying NOT to seduce someone in which case it is very effective. But more of that later.]

(Soap will resume shortly. You need to go and not think about your life for a while.)

(3 of 8) The Penis Monologues

[In which you find that blablabla, blablablablabla.]

So you go to the movies. (King Arthur, *shudder*. Worth it only because of Ioan Gruffud, that sexy sexy wonder that makes verbs like “grind” pop into your head). And you leaned over to use his shirt to wipe your glasses. And he seized the day and kissed you. He didn’t touch your breast. He tongue-kissed you and very hormonally so. You were both stunned. Euphoria galore.

Enter car conversation (and here you cringe) when he addresses kissing issue. You have no recollection of it but apparently, right after the neck kissing and biting on the first day and before the tongue-probing, you said you couldn’t stand men who will just stick their tongues down your oesophagus. You have used it in the past as a metaphor for men with no finesse (the afore-mentioned fumblers). You have no recollection of saying it then but sadly it is a sentence you recognise. Are you mad? Whyever did you...? Oh for fuck’s sake. Despite all he mastered all his courage - he says - and tried to kiss you but your teeth were clenched. (No they weren’t) (Yes they were) (No they weren’t) (You'll spare us the rest)

It is now obvious you have a clash of insecurities from both sides. Long discussion ensues regarding teeth clenching, tongue-probing, blahblah. Breast is roped into it but you put a stop to that (they are to be savoured, not bloody dissected). Issue cleared and settled. Heavy snogging session then follows, in the car, outside your door, interrupted only when your being pulled into his lap released the emergency break and the car rolled forward and bumped into another one with a scary crunch. Not even as a teenager did you do something like this. There's hope yet. Plus he finds your kisses "deeply sensuous". Did you hear that?

Fast-forward. You don’t kiss on the street (thank God, you don’t really want the world to know you have something) but you do in movies theatres and - oh no, another crisis. He comes over for dinner and you have this monologue re your “relationship” (oh, and kissing but let’s not go there again please). After much word-throwing, hesitating and rephrasing (and he can just go on and on) you lose patience (you never have much to start with) and say “You’re worried about what I might want from this. Well, obviously I expect to be walking down the aisle towards you 6 months from now.” He laughs (a freak he may be but stupid he's not). You say “It may come as a shocker but the last thing I want is to have a serious relationship with you. We’re together when we feel like it, we kiss when we feel like it, I’m not thinking about what may/will be, do us both a favour and do the same, I think we can agree I will not be walking down the aisle towards you in six month. Hell, not even in six centuries!” (Your bluntness gets in the way of your sensitivity) “That’s not very nice, is it? That kills off the possibility that you might, ever!” the asshole says. Why would you ever??? You're not mad. You're not desperate. You like yourself. You would kill each other in no time. “Oh for fuck’s sake, fine, let’s say there is a remote possibility that I might be walking down the aisle at some point, now just quit it, I cannot listen to you going on and on about something that isn’t there!” Silence. Them he says “Don’t you have to marry a Jewish guy, anyway” “Exactly, so shut up already!” He shut up and kissed you and broke the kiss only for a moment to mumble “Did you remember to post the invitations” which made you laugh so that was finely handled.

His sense of humour is a bit scatological at times but mostly you like it. But damn it, he can just go on and on and on about things. Why? Why???

(2 of 8) Boobie Prize

(In which you begin to suspect you may be so unlucky as to have been awarded 2 freaks in a row)

Not quite. Tongue entered, probed for 3 seconds and then quickly retreated. You had vague, defuncty thoughts but then decided he was probably as unsure and baffled as you were. And you liked him not pushing it. All was well. He said goodbye with a firm kiss on your lips. Well done.

This chronology now gets a bit blurry. You met for the next couple of days and there was neck kissing, chewing and biting but no proper kiss. There may have been some ass grabbing too. Now, you have this theory. If things start off on the wrong foot sexually, regardless of the level, forget it. Drop him. Run screaming into the night. (Addendum to theory: if he’s a bad kisser, forget it. Drop him. Run screaming into the night. He’ll make you regret your biblical proclivities.) But this wasn’t quite the case, was it? There was good chemistry, wasn’t there? But it made you wonder why in hell he was taking his sweet time with your lips and not with some other bits of you.

And then came the wondrous moment when, at yet another outside café, in context and lightning-fast, he cupped your breast. Wham bam thank you Mam. Mind you, you find this kind of cheeky behaviour may even be a small turn on after some level of intimacy has been reached. For you - and you were under the impression that the same was true for the rest of the femalehood - it does all begin with the kiss. Context or no context, what the fuck? Words to that effect as you punched his arm. “What, I’m not allowed to touch your breasts?” ???? Alarm bells going off in every direction. How do you explain the basics to a 40-year-old? You refused to believe the bells because, funnily enough, you never went for the dirty bastards, the fucked-up ones. You never tried to save them, you never cared for them, you couldn’t care less about their whining tortured souls. You LOATHE tortured souls. You DESPISE whiners. So you couldn’t quite believe that life would throw you 2 freaks in a row despite your best efforts and best behaviour. In the car later he looked at you and smiled. He leaned over to kiss you. (Oh normalcy!) He tweaked your nipple.

Enter: “OUCH! What was that for? You keep hitting me!” “What the hell is wrong with you??? You won’t kiss me but my breasts are yours for the taking?” “So what are you saying? Your breasts are off-limits?” “I’m saying you can’t just go for it and expect me to be alright al about it!” Enter long monologue on how there is no rule for this, how it all depends on the situation and the woman, on how it was obvious he was leaning in to kiss you (the breast distracted him?). Enter your becoming so confused - you had been out of practice after all, and what with the Defunct and all… - that you sounded out your girlfriends and conducted an anonymous inquiry in a chat room you sometimes go to. No, no he didn’t!, not normal, he did what?!, guy’s a freak, he did what?!

You knew he had a different outlook on life. 1) He swaps girlfriends with his buddies. I.e., they’re not taboo once the relationship is over. You, your girlfriends’ men are dickless as far as you’re concerned and they never miraculously regain penises even after the relationship has ended. It would be incestuous. It would be like having something with your girlfriends. The mere idea gives you the creeps. Thou shall not share sperm. Seriously. Which reminds you, 2) He does not use a condom. !!!! That right there leaves him having sex with you in his mind only. But it is a scary thing in this day and age, especially when you consider that 3) He is absolutely neurotic/phobic regarding cleanliness. He’s a fusser. He cannot comprehend how you can lay the dog’s leash on the ground and then pick it up (you suggested he started wearing latex gloves around the clock because of money bills which are as bacteria-full as you could possibly imagine even though that doesn’t seem to bother him.). He has a problem with pets in general (good luck with you then). And he keeps pointing out people that look like “proletarians” (you don’t much care about the look yourself but it gets to be annoying especially when things pointed out are, in fact, perfectly normal).

Now in your defence it must be said that it became pretty clear during those first days that here was someone whom you could never have a serious relationship with. But he kissed you right. He touched you right. You have been horny as hell. You have been unlucky as hell in bed. You’ve had a fair share of fumblers. Your most liberal friend tells you you need to start preparing the 40’s Notebook (i.e. uncomplicated men you call up when in need of a shag). Why not have some fun.

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

(1 of 8) Thank God that freak show is over!

[The 1st in a series aiming to purge, since pleasing doesn't seem to be an option.][This header format is in honour of "The Name of the Rose" but unlike book, length will be kept under control]

[PROLOGUE: boyfriend dumped a few months ago - hence The Defunct. Thank God that freak show is over! Enter a new character, fingers crossed. Dimmed light.]

You’d met him before, at a friend’s friend’s house. You didn’t fancy him at all and actually thought he was a bit of a prick. You apparently had a row re politics which you have thankfully repressed. (You have since become wiser and simply do not discuss some things at all thus sparing yourself a lot of aggravation from people who haven't even heard about the basics.) You then met by accident months later at New Year’s Eve and he asked whether he could take photographs of you some day wearing that same outfit. You hate being photographed and are not the bit photogenic and it’s always a hassle but you thought “Let him sweat” so you said yes. On the day you’d agreed upon you were sick so you had to postpone.

A few months later he called your mobile and asked if you wanted to catch a movie. The Defunct was sitting right next to you, already looking sour because some man had called you which almost made you say yes since you don’t deal well with people telling you what to do and even less with boyfriends who are uncomfortable with your having male friends and actually asked you not to tell him when you went out for coffee with them (no luck there, the freak) - but you, surprisingly, had an exam so couldn’t do it, plus you didn't need the boyfriend aggravation smack in the middle of exams.

Many months later you ran into him at an outside café (you all live in the same neighbourhood) and agreed you should have coffee sometime. And so you did. Then a few weeks ago you went out for another coffee. You must have been ovulating - because you talked for hours and you liked him. And because you liked him, and the way he smiles and laughs, and his voice, and his breath, you started fancying him a bit. At some point you realised he had started touching you, your arm, your wrist, your knee. Slight touches but longer than just casual ones. All of a sudden you thought “He fancies me!” - and was that a surprise (oh yes, the Defunct has you well-formatted) (it’s funny and a bit worrying that you reached that conclusion not as a female, but behaviourally. It sort of dawned on you scientifically. Get a grip).

Well, late in the night (a.m. already) he went with you to walk the dog. You were sitting on a bench and he said you had an amazing neck and how could he not kiss it. So he did. How could he not bite it. Or your perfect ears. Slowly. He then kissed your lips, no hurries. Mind you, by then you hadn’t been properly kissed in years. (How sad.) And you’ve always liked the way he kisses her in Top Gun. You’ve always liked the way he throws the table out of the way and grabs her and carries her into the bedroom in Moonspell. You've always liked - well, we see what you mean. You like men who are men. You knew that he wanted you. (I'm happy to say you caught up pretty fast this time, it didn't just dawn on you. Despite the Defunct - who indeed was so in more ways than one - you're not that formatted, you can still recognise an erection if it happens to be poking at you.) Mostly you were grateful that this one seemed to be sane, willing, normal.
Enter tongue.

(You'll be back after a short commercial break during which you‘ll sleep.)